


Galion never listens

by ThralionExists



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Galion - Freeform, Galion never listens, I don't know, Legolas is smart about these things, M/M, Thralion, Thranduil - Freeform, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThralionExists/pseuds/ThralionExists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is rude. Thranduil is late home from work. Galion's selective-hearing is improved. Legolas is smart, and avoids the situation.<br/>Will Galion /ever/ listen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Galion never listens

**Author's Note:**

> Based (loosely) on a headcanon that a friend and I had in the early hours. Galion is a little shit and I love him.

The sound of slicing carrots, potatoes, and a /million/ other vegetables was all that Galion had heard for at least an hour. Where /was/ he?  
Thranduil was usually late home- but never this late.  
Too-long blonde hair was dragged back out of his face into a high ponytail, the odd strand poking him in the eye. 

“He's probably caught up, you know Dad.” Legolas said, spinning slowly on the stool in front of him.

“Hmph, I suppose. I just hope he's home in time for this.” Galion waved his hand around, trying to include every inch of the kitchen. 

“If he's not, it's probably for a good reason...” The younger Greenleaf began, words eventually trailing off into a groan. “Or not really. Well, it'll be worth the wait, I'm sure.” 

A few chops later it was over. Galion slipped on the small oven gloves, ramming everything in to cook. “It is past Eight- it had /better/ be worth it.” And then he slipped the gloves off, putting them neatly onto the handle.

A dark brow raised in knowing- they had been through this a hundred times.

“I'd stay and find out, but, no. I'm stopping at Aragorn's, so...” Slowly he peeled away from the stool, inching towards the archway.

“Does your Father know?” Food covered hands found hips, dirtying the black apron. Someone has to be parental, Galion thought.

“How do I know? He's late.” He rolled his eyes at Legolas. So alike his Father in wit, it bordered (innocently enough) on rude, although it was always playful.

“Go, I'll deal with your Father on my /own/.” 

“You have an ability to block him out- I don't. You're made of stronger stuff, Galion.” Legolas laughed, flinging on his backpack and checking his phone. With a nod he turned.

And so Legolas was gone, leaving an apprehensive Butler in the house. Alone. With actual free time. There was a small fist pump of triumph, before he made his way to the lounge-room, a new smugness to his gait. 

 

.oOo.

It was just past Twelve when the front door finally opened, and yet Galion was still awake, with housekeeping magazines piled around him and feet on the bouffant.  
All that is missing is the cucumber, he thought.

A sigh was heard before the mouth it came from was seen. Ominous, loud banging and shuffling breaking the peaceful silence in which the Butler had dwelt for hours. Here it goes again. 

“You /will not believe/ the day I have had!” No, he probably could believe it. Thranduil's life was a constant Reality TV show- long running and overly obscene. 

“Umhm?” Galion did not look up from his article. Apparently, you could get out Wine stains with Lemon Juice. Interesting. 

“/Basically/,” With an internal groan Galion obediently listened, eyes still skimming the cleaning section. “That miserable, lowly, Oakenshield came in, and do you know what he said?” Thranduil was seated across from him now, poised in his armchair, a sour look on his face.

“No, but I am sure you will tell me.” Galion mentally cursed Thorin, whose weekly insults left a reeling Thranduil in his hands to deal with. Not that Oakenshield didn't get as good as he gave- Thranduil was one not to argue with, but it did not make his Butler's life easier. 

“That is right, I am,” Leaning back and taking in air, Galion raised a brow. Apparently, Vinegar cleans windows nicely, too. Excellent. “We were discussing our usual business of Erebor Housing Deals, when he /wrongfully/ calls /me/ a 'Vain little bitch'. I may very well be well groomed- perhaps he does not own a Bath, and takes his unfortunate appearance out on me.”

Galion sighed inaudibly. Maybe he should send Thorin a bath on Thranduil's behalf. He did not like Thorin insulting the Greenleaf family, and usually took the time to get a little subtle revenge. 

“Do you even care?” Galion looked up at Thranduil for the first time that night, his magazine now holding nothing of import. It was a sight to treasure, a worked up Thranduil with a loose tie and un-tucked shirt, usually immaculate hair brushed out of his face. It was frankly, devastatingly beautiful. 

“Are you even listening to me? Does /anyone/ listen to me?” This made Galion smile. 

“It is impossible not to listen to you, Thranduil.” Stuffing the magazines to the side Galion stood, rolling the bouffant under the Oak coffee table. 

“Then act like it.” 

“Yes, Dear.” 

“Do not 'Yes Dear' me right now. I am too worked up.” Galion rolled his eyes for the hundredth time that night- if they rolled any harder he would surely go blind. Thranduil was pouting, something both he and Legolas did when they did not get their way, something that Galion had quickly learned not to give into. 

“I am listening, I promise. What else did Oakenshield say that has you so... 'worked up'?” Galion made his way behind Thranduil's chair, hands sliding over his shoulders to pull at the Blazer and gently slide it off.  
Thranduil knew this routine well, knew when to move forward and when to slide his arms out. 

“The usual threats of Nair, to begin with...” Galion ran a hand down a toned chest, flicking open a few top buttons along the way. 

“Nothing new, then.” 

“Yes- and this is what has me so /angry/. He insulted my Boy. Called him a brat.” Thranduil spat out the words, one of his hands finding the one that unclothed him, with heavy rings that the Butler was used to, interlocking the fingers. 

Galion was annoyed. Anyone could insult Thranduil, and they would face the dramatics that ensued, but not Legolas. Galion loved him as though he was his own, Thranduil loved him more than any cufflinks or statue or even Galion himself, and Thorin knew this. 

“Can I call the Police on him? Perhaps report him for existing?” Thranduil said, in a voice soaked with complete annoyance and grief. Galion laughed loudly. It would be amusing, to hear of Authority at Thorin's door, just simply for being alive.

“I do not think so, Dear. You could just crush his business, I am sure that would be unbearable for him.” And it would; Thorin has been fighting against the more popular Greenleaf Real Estate for more years than Galion had known or worked for Thranduil. Their Fathers had too been neck on neck- though they had once been friends.

Galion moved to now stand above the other, holding out his hands in offering. Thranduil took them, pulling himself up to match their height. Galion was taller, by an extremely annoying inch or two, demolishing any power Thranduil usually had over people with his looming stance.

“Ruthless, I like it.” He kissed Galion briefly, already the tension of the day melting off of him, relaxing his shoulders and easing his headache.

“Would I have survived you, if I were otherwise? Softer maybe?” Galion said huskily, hands snaking up arms to cup a long neck. 

“Survived? You make it sound hard to live alongside me.” A thick brow raised up at the Butler, his own voice deep and firm. 

Hips rolled into the lower ones slowly, as if testing a very still water, pleased with what they found there.  
“Oh yes, it is quite hard living with you. Though, it could be worse, I suppose.” 

“Indeed it could.” Thranduil was irresistible- like chocolate covered strawberries or crisp Red Wine. Galion gripped the slender juncture of jaw and neck, claiming the other mouth with his own.  
And it was his, all of it, and he would confirm it again and again.  
It deepened, smaller hands roaming under loose black clothing and fingers in hair and clashing teeth. It was like watching desperate teenagers try and surpass second base. 

“Where is Legolas?” Thranduil asked, breaking off their adolescent make out session, lips so beautifully swollen, pupils so wholly dilated. 

“Aragorn's.” Galion replied shortly, one hand moving to the red tie, loosening completely. 

“Good.” And it began again, this time shoes came off, and so did ties and nuisance buttons. Galion felt slightly ashamed, still with food remnants on his shirt. He probably even smelled like potato and wood polish. 

“You need to eat.” He said, breathlessly, still not stopping his assault on the ear lobes of Thranduil. 

“It can wait.” A groan in reply.

“Thran-”

“I have something I would much sooner get a taste of, Galion.” More than a groan now, it was final. Thranduil always got what he wanted- he did not need to pout his lip.

“Yes, Dear.” The Butler took hold of the tie in both hands, moving swiftly backwards. “It is past the time to retire, do you not think?”  
“Yes I do. Perhaps now I will have your full attention?” If Galion was honest, this was the one time he could give Thranduil his undivided attention, when he was no longer thinking about his duties as Butler, but as his Partner. 

“Yes, Dear.”

“I /told/ you not to say that, Galion.” 

“Yes,” Galion stopped, a wicked smile curving his mouth. “Dear.” After all, he couldn't always listen to Thranduil. He'd been through it, a hundred times. 

And they would do this again, such was their routine. Comfort, servitude and company. Abandoned dinners and clothes and school runs made them Family. Both Greenleafs would call Galion Family, if anyone were to ask. He has been more than a Butler for a very long time.

Thranduil would ask Galion to Marry him, should the other have the ears to hear him. He wished to call him his from almost their first meeting, though he did not see it at the time, as wary as he was of personal relationships. That had quickly changed when he looked upon his Butler asleep with an exhausted son at his side, covered in poster paint.

That is when the older Greenleaf knew that he was meant to find Galion.

.oOo.

Both men lay in the Queen sized bed, sheets pooled at their hips, leaving little to be seen. The room smelled of their session, sweet and familiar. Heaven.  
Galion's head lay on the smooth pale chest of the Other's, fingers stroking him into sleep. 

“Marry me.” Thranduil said, not a whisper and not a shout. It wasn't a question either, it would be answered with a yes and nothing else.  
He waited, the soft snores giving him the answer that he awaited.

Galion was fast asleep, oblivious to what he had been asked for the hundredth time in History. The other blonde rolled his eyes, head resting against his own pillow.  
There was always next time, if anyone were to listen to him.


End file.
